


Tradition

by kitkatkaylie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Flowers, Inspired by Art, M/M, Wedding, Wildling Culture & Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: “It’s tradition, my love.”Jon smiled at his soon to be husband, he didn’t doubt that it was, but he did wonder whether it was a particularly practical tradition, especially in the grips of the winter snows.“And which flowers have you chosen for me? Which ones do you think for me best?”
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> So this is inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @louhetar on tumblr (actually, all her art is amazing and you should definitely check it out!)

“It’s tradition, my love.” 

Jon smiled at his soon to be husband, he didn’t doubt that it was, but he did wonder whether it was a particularly practical tradition, especially in the grips of the winter snows. 

“And which flowers have you chosen for me? Which ones do you think for me best?” Jon asked lightly, as he trailed his fingers up his lover’s bare arms. “Violets and tulips perhaps?”

Tormund grinned and pulled Jon back against his chest, “I thought perhaps some lovely daffodils and dandelions for your locks, bright yellow to really stand out against your hair.”

Jon gently smacked his hand against Tormund’s arm, “You’d better not have. Sansa will never let me live it down if I marry with jonquils in my hair, not after I teased her for loving that song for nearly all our childhood.”

He could feel it as Tormund chuckled, his chest rumbling under Jon’s ear with a soothing vibration.

“What, no complaint about the dandelions?”

Jon tilted his head so he could meet those blue eyes he loved so much, “You wouldn’t be so stupid. You know that should you make me wear anything with a lion on it, Ghost shall be taking your place in my bed for at least the first two years of our marriage, my heart.”

Tormund laughed even harder at that, so hard that Jon found himself almost knocked from his position sprawled on top of him. 

They lay there a few beats more, enjoying the closeness and stillness before their busy day. It was unlikely they would have any time to themselves until long after the sun had gone down, and they wanted to savour it.

“Tormund Giantsbane!” A slightly irate voice yelled from outside their tent, “You move your sorry arse, we have work to do that won’t get done if you spend all day cuddling Jon Snow.”

Jon grinned and started to extract himself from his love’s embrace, “You should probably do as she says. It wouldn’t do to anger her on the day of our wedding, not when she’s the one in charge of the ceremony.”

Tormund heaved a great sigh, “I suppose you are right. It would be a shame for us to not be married because I angered the wrong person.”

Jon rolled himself back up in the blankets, leaving Tormund exposed to the cold air, “That it would be a shame.”

“And it’s likely to happen if you don’t get your hairy arse out here in the next two minutes!” The voice called again, causing Jon to break out in a fit of giggles. It was always amusing to hear Tormund Giantsbane, a Hero of the Battle for the Dawn, Chieftain of the Free Folk, be scolded like a child. 

“I will see you later, my love.” Jon said softly, “Provided, of course, my wreath contains no dandelions.” 

Tormund sent a sly grin back over his shoulder as he slipped out the tent, “I make no promises.”

Jon felt that the rude gesture he made at the back of his lover was entirely justified, even if no one else saw it.

—

“Oh that’s beautiful.” Sansa sighed from the other side of the screen. 

Jon wanted to ask what it was, wanted desperately to see the wreath that had just been delivered, but he knew his sister would give him that disappointed glare she had surely learnt from their father. 

She had taken his wedding preparations far more seriously than Jon himself had, and had been horrified to discover that he had spent the night with Tormund when she arrived to help him prepare. Then again, Sansa had always been a romantic. 

He rushed the last of his washing, just so he could see the gift that had been delivered; it was likely to net him a disappointed shake of the head, that was true, but his excitement could no longer be contained. 

He dressed as quickly as possible, tying up the laces of his jerkin with a speed only matched by his dressing when the first reports of the Free Folk attacking the Wall had come to him. 

“Don’t go so fast,” Sansa scolded gently as he tumbled out from behind the screen, “You’ll hurt yourself, and I doubt you want to see Tormund with a black eye.”

She gently tugged his clothes straight and rubbed a smudge of dirt from his cheek with an absent thumb, the same way Lady Catelyn had used to ambush her children when they were unfit for polite company.

“You’ll do.” She finally said gently, “Come on, you need to see this wreath that Tormund made for you, and the way he truly feels about you.”

She led him to a beautiful carved box, and opened it to reveal the most beautiful wreath nestled on a bed of pine needles. 

“Oh.” Jon said, struck dumb by the sight before him. Struck dumb by the thought that had gone into the wreath.

Red weirwood leaves and blue winter roses, all twined together. Blue roses for his mother, and Winterfell; and Weirwood leaves for the Old Gods and the vows they were soon to promise each other.

He reached out reverently and stroked one of the silky soft petals of the roses. It was so delicate that he could barely dare to touch it, terrified that it might fall apart in his hands.

He looked at his sister pleadingly, and she smiled again, knowing what he was asking without the need for words.

Her slender hands reached into the box and picked up the wreath, before placing it on top of his curls gently.

She sighed wistfully and stepped back. Jon was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

“You are so lucky,” She sighed, “To have a man who loves you as Tormund does, and one who would display that love so openly.”

Jon looked in the mirror, at the bright crown atop his head, and could only agree with her. He really was lucky to have Tormund.


End file.
